


Beside My Lonely Fire

by Mara



Category: Blood Ties
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike's not entirely sure how he got into this situation. It's probably Vicki's fault somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beside My Lonely Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivestra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivestra/gifts).



When Mike walked into Vicki's office after work that Friday evening, he was _sure_ he wasn't going to like what she had to say. There was a "Mike's life is going to get harder" vibe going on in her phone call that didn't encourage him. And from her perch on the edge of her desk, she didn't look entirely happy.

And then Henry Fitzroy, bastard--er, bastard son of a king--said, through teeth clenched tight, "Detective, I need to ask your assistance."

Mike dropped into one of Vicki's visitor's chairs, a big grin spreading across his face. Sometimes it was nice to be wrong: This was going to be a _great_ evening.

"You can stop smirking now, Mike," Vicki said, with a sigh.

"I'm not smirking, I'm...basking. Enjoying the moment."

Henry rolled his eyes. "I'm so glad to have brightened your day."

"Oh, you have. Could you say it again, maybe? I want to cherish this moment."

"That's enough," Vicki said. "Don't rub salt in his wounds."

Fighting his grin, Mike managed to speak normally. "What's the problem?"

Henry and Vicki engaged in a brief staring contest to see who would have to give him the (presumably) bad news. Henry lost, which added to Mike's amusement.

"I need you to accompany me to the Toolbox."

"Funny. If you want my help, you can stop making dumb jokes."

"I am entirely serious."

Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I can't think of anything that would convince me to go with you to a hardcore leather bar."

Vicki started to chuckle, but stopped at Henry's look. "I'm sorry. It's just..."

Henry closed his eyes, then opened them. "I will beg, if that would help. I will get on my knees, if necessary."

"Whoa!" And _that_ was an image Mike was going to try and get rid of immediately. "What the hell?"

"I am trying to find a friend, John Hamilton, and I believe there are informants at the Toolbox who can help me. I would like some assistance."

Mike looked at Vicki.

"No can do. Besides the fact there aren't that many women who go there, they know who I am." Vicki shook her head at his startled look. "I was there for a case a few years ago, idiot. I'd scare 'em off."

He thought about making a joke out of the idea that Vicki would scare the guys at the Toolbox, but decided that _he_ was too scared of her to try it. "Right. So...me?"

"I need to take someone who can both take care of himself and also subtly interrogate patrons without being found out. I don't know anyone else who fits the bill."

And didn't _that_ piss off his royal highness, Mike thought. A small mean part of him was tempted to make the vampire beg, but anything that serious, well, he just couldn't do it. "What's up?"

"I've heard some rumors that John might be in trouble. He was last seen at the Toolbox."

"Rumors? He didn't ask you for help?"

Henry twitched. "He wouldn't. Not now. It's been too many years."

"But he still has the stamina for the Toolbox," Vicki said, eyebrows raised. "Good for him."

Mike shot her a dirty look. He'd been trying to forget the bar's reputation for, ah, sexual antics. She grinned back, completely unrepentant.

"I don't know that he's participated recently," Henry said, rather prudishly in Mike's opinion. "But I'm fairly sure he was there. I need to find certain people and..."

"Vamp them?" Mike suggested.

"You make me sound like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark."

"I have some less flattering comparisons, if you want to hear them."

"No, thank you."

"Boys!" Vicki kicked Mike's leg and smacked Henry's arm. "Let's focus here. Henry needs to get in and ask some questions in his own special way. He needs backup that knows how to ask questions. You're invited to the party. Will you do it?"

Mike sighed and looked down at his suit. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to need some different clothing."

* * *

"Oh c'mon, where are the assless chaps? Vicki asked a short while later, eyes filled with unholy glee as she came around her desk to inspect him. "It's a shame not to show off that ass you've got."

Crossing his arms across the uncomfortable leather harness digging into his chest, he glared down at her. "Unless you plan to do something with my ass...leave it alone, Vic."

As quick as that, she wasn't laughing anymore. "You look fine, Mike. Just be careful tonight." Her expression was cold and she was out the door before he could apologize.

For a long moment, he stood in his ridiculous outfit, wondering what the hell had happened to his life. And if anyone would really care if he opened Vicki's office window and tumbled out.

"Detective?"

Mike winced. There was probably someone he'd like to see even less at this moment, but he was at a loss as to who that would be. He didn't turn around. "You'd probably better call me by my name. I hear the Toolbox isn't a great place for cops."

"Of course. Mike." He said the name as if he was testing the sound of it. "Michael...are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Let's get on with this." Mike finally turned, surprising an expression he couldn't read on Henry's face.

Henry--who looked comfortable in skintight pants and a barely-there burgundy shirt showing pierced nipples that seemed real--frowned at him. "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. I hate to see a grown man beg."

"Is that so?" Henry asked softly.

Mike could feel himself flush and he stalked out of the room, not looking to see if Henry followed him.

* * *

They came into the bar together, as there was no particular reason to hide they knew each other, but soon separated. Mike was a grown man and he did _not_ whimper as Henry left him alone. Especially because the place was crowded enough he didn't stay alone long.

A man who was nearly Mike's height slid into the chair opposite him. He was plainly showing what he had (which included some fairly impressible abs) and Mike pretended to look him over, grinning.

"Hey, sailor, buy a guy a drink?" the man asked.

Mike laughed. "Does that line usually work?"

"Well, it does get a laugh, and that's a start." Leaning a little closer, he eyed Mike's chest with obvious appreciation. "Or we could skip the drink and head somewhere else. I've got a whip I haven't broken in yet."

"Sorry," Mike said with an easy grin, "I'm actually hoping a buddy of mine will show up. John. John Hamilton? He was supposed to be here, but I haven't seen him."

"I don't know him." He shrugged. "If you're sure...?"

"Yeah, thanks, though." Mike emptied his drink and wandered up to the bar, ignoring whoever it was who'd groped his ass.

He chatted with the bartender and a few other guys at loose ends, trying hard to be unimpressed by the couples kissing and...other things...in the corners. Although he caught himself at one point, staring at a redhead perched on the knee of a large and very hairy man. They weren't doing anything particularly outrageous, but there was something about the way the redhead's hand was stroking the hair on his partner's chest. It wasn't even sexual, it just looked like comfort.

Mike tried to remember the last time someone had touched him like that. Maybe he should give up and ask Kate out on a date. It was still a bad idea, for a lot of reasons, but...hell, he wasn't getting any younger. Sliding into his seat, he wondered what he was doing--his original plan for the evening was sitting on the couch with a beer, not sitting in a bar full of leather queens, watching Henry goddamn Fitzroy.

Of course, several someone elses were also watching Henry. Mike sighed, mentally noting the number of young men scattered around the room who were barely able to pretend to look at anyone else.

For a long moment, Mike imagined himself leaning on a cane and yelling "You kids get off my lawn." Yeah, he felt old. He took another sip of the whiskey and did his best to ignore the man polishing boots in the corner. Besides being mostly naked, weren't those boots awfully close to--Mike went back to his beer.

Henry smiled at a blond leaning against the bar, brushing hair out of his face with a charming smile, and Mike's stomach churned. What was he doing here?

To Mike's surprise, Henry left the man at the bar and walked toward Mike, sliding into a seat across from him. "Having fun, Michael?" Henry asked, touching Mike's knee under the table.

Mike stared at him, absolutely frozen. "Uh..."

"I just told him you're my master and you were expecting me back, so don't look so surprised."

Mike tried to not jump out of his chair as Henry began rubbing Mike's knee. "What the--"

Henry's smile didn't change. "Play along," he said softly. "I'm much more tolerant of idiots like the one at the bar when I plan to feed off them shortly."

"So you came to harass me instead?" Mike swallowed as Henry reached across the table with his free hand and took his wrist.

"Actually, I came to tell you that I have what I need and we can leave."

"Great," Mike said. Then he nearly choked as Henry pulled his hand forward and began to nibble on his fingers. He tried to pull away, but Henry didn't let him. "Uh..."

"If you'd like to leave with minimal hassle, I suggest you look like a tolerant master accepting me back." With those somewhat ominous words, Henry let Mike's hand and knee go, only to slide off his chair and come around to kneel at his feet, head bowed slightly.

Swallowing sharply, Mike tried to look benevolent as he put a hand on Henry's hair and hesitantly stroked his hair. It was as soft as it looked. Then Henry put his head on Mike's thigh and looked up, expression pure lust. "Can we leave now, Michael?" he murmured, warm breath ghosting along leather that didn't seem much of a barrier at the moment.

"Yeah." He swallowed sharply and stood, dumping Henry on the floor.

A few nearby eyebrows were raised and at least two men looked like they were about to come to Henry's defense, but Henry slithered off the floor and plastered himself to Mike's side. Tilting his head up, he whispered seductively in his ear. "And to think I thought you were good at undercover work."

"I am."

"Mmm." Henry drew him toward the door.

Mike was still a bit dazed when the door closed behind them and they walked down the few steps toward the sidewalk. As soon as they were out of sight, Henry dropped his arm and strode forward, leaving Mike blinking at his back. "So, what did you find out?" Mike called out, annoyed.

Henry didn't look back. "He's dead."

"What?" Mike started walking after him.

"John died six weeks ago. A heart attack, nothing dramatic. There was no obituary and the funeral was quite private. Rumors to the contrary, there was nothing I could have done."

Mike jogged to catch up. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Henry didn't say anything, just made a strange sound and nearly tripped over his feet. Mike grabbed his arm, shocked by the sudden clumsiness. Henry tensed, but let Mike pull him to a stop and turn him around. His eyes were closed, tears dripping down his face.

"Christ, are you--"

" _Don't._ Don't ask me if I'm all right when I've just learned a friend is dead." Henry's eyes were almost black and his voice was deepening.

"Well, excuse me for showing concern. I don't know what I was thinking." He dropped Henry's arm and turned away.

He only took a few steps before Henry--quieter now--said, "I apologize."

"No need." Mike slowed. "You're upset. I'll just go home."

"I do need to apologize. You came to help me, and I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Mike half-turned, stopping on the sidewalk. He shrugged. "I've done the same to you."

"True." Henry managed a tiny smile.

"I..." He had no idea what he had been about to say. "I should get home and get some sleep." As he strode toward his parked car, tugging off some of the more uncomfortable bits of harness, he expected...something. But he arrived at his car alone.

Parking his car was a bit of challenge this late, but he managed to find a spot not too far from his apartment and he pulled on a raincoat he'd stashed in the car in case he ran into someone he knew on the way up. But all was quiet when he stepped off the elevator and...found Henry leaning against his door, unabashedly still dressed in his leather.

Coming to a screeching halt, he stared. "How did you--"

"Is that something you want me to answer in the hallway?"

"Why are--"

"And that's _definitely_ something you don't want me to answer here."

Mike groaned. "Can't this wait until morning?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. Shall we?" He pointed regally at the door.

Shaking his head, Mike unlocked the door and led the vampire into his home. He turned, hands on his hips, and glared. (Although the glare was somewhat less effective when he realized that putting his hands on his hips had exposed his mostly bare chest, which Henry was looking at.)

Smirking, Henry walked toward him slowly. "To answer your first question, I ran. When I choose to, I can run much faster than you can drive here."

"Great. You'd be an asset to the Canadian Olympic team if you didn't explode in daylight. And?"

"And to answer your second question, I came with a proposition."

"A proposition?" Mike blinked, waiting for it to make sense. What, going into business together or something?

Henry laughed. "A _proposition_ , Michael."

Oh. _That_ kind of proposition. "No. And now you can leave."

Henry reached him, hand outstretched to caress his chest. "Not so fast."

Mike batted away his hand, stepping back. "What are you playing at, Fitzroy?" His voice was barely more than a snarl.

"I'm not playing," Henry said, tilting his head slightly to consider him. "If you're not interested, that's another matter."

"I'm..." The words stuck in his throat, and he turned away, annoyed, shucking off his coat to give himself something to do.

"Not so sure of yourself now, are you?" The smirk was actually _audible_.

"Sure enough to know I hate you." The words sounded weak, even to him.

"Oh, I'm wounded."

"Just...go away."

"If that's what you truly want." Henry was behind him, so close Mike could feel his warmth along his back. "Do you want to be alone?"

It took a long time to form a word. "No."

"That's what I thought." A pause, as Henry's hand slowly pressed onto his shoulder. "Neither do I."

"You? Gimme a break."

"I don't always enjoy picking up a stranger in a bar. Several hundred years of strangers gets tiring. Sometimes...sometimes I want the company of someone who knows who, and what, I am."

"So Vicki has pushed you away too?" Mike couldn't help the harsh tone.

A chuckle. "That's not the _only_ reason I'm here."

"I don't like you, Fitzroy."

"I think we both know that's not true." The hand slid up and down his arm and Mike fought the shivers that provoked. "You resent my feelings for Vicki and hers for me. You were afraid of my abilities as a vampire, although that's faded now. And you find me attractive."

Mike didn't answer.

"Vicki still loves you. You have a place in her life that I can never touch, never replace. And I have some ideas--well, we can discuss that later."

Turning his head, Mike frowned at him. "What?"

"The reason I'm here is that you're lonely and I'm lonely and perhaps we can help each other for a while."

He turned away again. "I'm not--"

"Can we skip this part of the conversation? You're desperate for touch, for a connection. Give me credit for having lived over four hundred years longer than you. I know what it looks like, as well as what it feels like."

Mike absolutely refused to think about what living for hundreds of years might be like: watching people die, starting over every few decades. Henry put his other hand on Mike's back and gently turned him around. Henry wasn't smirking now and he looked, well, almost wistful.

"Now that we've covered why I'm here and why you, do you have any other ridiculous objections?" His smile was friendlier than the words might have suggested, a smile that invited Mike to laugh at both of them.

Slowly, Mike shook his head. "I suppose not."

"Good." Henry took his shoulders and pulled him down the few inches into a gentle kiss.

Mike couldn't bear the pity and he slammed Henry back against the front, pushing the kiss until it was almost brutal. Henry matched him but didn't try to get out of Mike's hold. It was a heady feeling, knowing he was being allowed to do this, that he could take what he wanted, what he needed.

What he needed. He bit down on Henry's cool lip, pushed his own lips against Henry's teeth.

Pulling back, Henry shook his head. "Be careful what you offer."

"Take it. It won't be the first time."

Henry held Mike's head still and looked him in the eyes. "The last time was--"

"Just do it."

Henry watched him for a long moment before nodding once.

Mike was braced for pain, craved it almost, something to let him know this was really happening. So it was a surprise when Henry's eyes darkened, he leaned forward, and...oh god. It was like kissing, fucking, something very intimate, Mike didn't have the words, but it felt great. At some point, Henry moved them to the couch and Mike was drifting on sensation.

Mike took a deep breath when Henry pulled back, eyes already normal. Then he grabbed Henry's head and kissed him again, ignoring the faint metallic taste in favor of running his tongue over the normal-feeling teeth. Henry was warm now and it was easy to forget what he was.

Henry climbed on top of him, one leg between Mike's knees, and he ground down. Groaning, Mike pushed up against him. "Fuck."

"Only if you ask very nicely," Henry said into his ear.

"In your dreams." He'd planned to say more, but the words got stuck in his throat when Henry pushed up his shirt and ran warm hands along his side. It was ticklish but nice, and Mike convinced his hands to move off Henry's shoulders and to the buttons on his shirt. Unbuttoning left him lots of skin to touch and he indulged, alternating between skating fingers gently around hard nipples and digging into Henry's shoulders, moaning into his mouth.

Pulling away for a moment, Henry shrugged his shirt off, then tackled Mike's. In the process, Mike slid them off the couch and onto the floor. Kicking off his pants, he rolled on top of Henry, letting his weight do the work as they barely avoided the coffee table.

Eyelids fluttering, Henry groaned. Mike caught his breath at the sight. It had been too goddamn long since he'd made someone look like that. Dipping his head, he licked and bit at Henry's neck in a parody of what they'd done just a few minutes ago. Henry chuckled and arched his head back. "Michael," he whispered and the sound went straight to Mike's cock.

At some point, Henry had managed to unbuckle his own pants and Mike shoved them and their underwear out of the way, revealing even more skin to touch. Distantly, a part of his brain suggested he shouldn't be having quite so much fun with Henry Fitzroy and his cock told his brain to shut the hell up if it didn't have anything useful to contribute.

Henry's hands ran from his hair down his back to his ass and Mike repressed the urge to purr as he rubbed their bodies together, going with a groan instead. Oh god, he wasn't going to last long at this rate.

And then Henry's wandering hand moved around front, tweaking a nipple and dipping between them to rub his cock. "It's okay," Henry said as he gasped. "We have until dawn."

Closing his eyes, Mike gave into sensation--muscles and skin and fine hairs and sweat and dragging and sliding--and at some point they were on their sides, with Mike pushed up against the couch, and it should have been awkward. But Henry was touching him and he never wanted it to stop and he touched him in return and...his body shook and he slumped against Henry, his hand still working automatically until he felt Henry's release against him.

It took him a few minutes to open his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and then he glanced at their sticky stomachs. "Don't worry," Henry said. "I'm sure we can manage something with a bit more finesse next time."

"Next time, hmm?" Mike snorted. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you, Henry?"

Henry smiled slowly. "Yes."

* * *

Two hours later, Mike decided he felt good. Really good. Really--oh hell, he felt fantastic. He thought about getting out of the bed and taking a shower, but couldn't be bothered.

Grinning down at him, Henry looked like he knew what he was thinking and Mike swatted his shoulder with what little energy he had left. "Your ego doesn't need my help, so don't even think about it."

Henry lay down next to him and Mike closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of skin next to his. Henry inched a little closer, rolling so he could run his fingers gently across Mike's chest.

It was nice. And Mike hated to ruin it, but...he took a breath. "So...about John."

Henry's hand paused for a moment, then resumed its meandering path. He didn't respond.

"How do you do it? So many years, so many people."

Mike watched Henry's face as he obviously considered saying something flippant or annoying. "I move on," he said eventually. "I find other friends, other lovers."

"Move on?" Mike rolled his eyes. "Right. Like going to leather bars to check up on people. Oh, and stalking their daughters, like you did with Maya."

"I may, occasionally, keep an eye on people of interest."

"Bullshit." Mike rolled over, pushing Henry underneath him again, holding his wrists, although Henry wasn't resisting. "Don't lie to me. Not right now. Tomorrow night, you can go back to being a bastard, but now I want the truth. How do you lose people for centuries and survive?"

"I don't know."

Surprised, Mike let go and sat back on his heels.

Henry's eyes were looking through him. "’T is madness to remember, ’T were wisdom to forget," he said after a moment.

"What?"

Refocusing, Henry blinked. "It's a poem. 'Remember or Forget.' Charles, the poet, was a good friend in the 80s and 90s. The 1880s and 1890s, that is."

"A friend or a _friend_?"

Henry glared for a moment, then pulled himself to sitting against the headboard, pushing Mike off his legs and dumping him back on the bed. "Just a friend. He was a man of many talents and I visited his home often. We spoke on the subject of loss."

"Sorry, I--"

"He wrote the poem three years after I had to fake my own death. It ends, 'I sit beside my lonely fire, And pray for wisdom yet: For calmness to remember, Or courage to forget.' And that is what I do, Detective, I pray. And sometimes I remember and sometimes I forget."

Mike found it unexpectedly painful to have been demoted from Mike back to Detective. He looked down at his hands, then back up. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I shouldn't have pushed. I just wanted to know what we, what Vic and I and all the others, mean."

Henry's stony face shifted. "You should know already."

"What do you mean?"

"Even one who's no longer human can't survive without human contact. I need all of you...and not just for blood. Even when all you and I do is fight, it makes me feel almost alive. It reminds me why I don't just open the shades in my apartment before dawn."

Mike swallowed hard at the image. "You're still a bastard."

"That may be, but now I'm _your_ bastard."

Mike flopped back on the bed, rolling his eyes. "Mom! He followed me home. Can I keep him?"

Crawling across the mounded blankets, Henry loomed over him, eyes darkening. "Do you promise to feed me, Michael? And take me for walks?"

Mike found his pulse quickening. "I don't know that you're trainable."

"Oh, but we could have such fun trying."

"I guess we could." Mike pulled Henry down into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The Toolbox actually closed a number of years ago, but it was the most appropriate locale I could find in Toronto, so let's pretend, hmm?
> 
> I've never been a part of the leather scene, so my apologies if I've gotten anything wrong. I've always been fond of the leather contingent since I misplaced my friends and ended up marching with them during the 1993 March on Washington for Lesbian, Gay, and Bi Equal Rights and Liberation. They were so sweet, and took care of me, although I patently didn't belong.
> 
> "Remember or Forget" by Charles Hamilton Aïdé
> 
> I sat beside the streamlet,  
> I watch’d the water flow,  
> As we together watch’d it  
> One little year ago:  
> The soft rain patter’d on the leaves,  
> The April grass was wet.  
> Ah! folly to remember;  
> ’T is wiser to forget.
> 
> The nightingales made vocal  
> June’s palace pav’d with gold;  
> I watch’d the rose you gave me  
> Its warm red heart unfold;  
> But breath of rose and bird’s song  
> Were fraught with wild regret.  
> ’T is madness to remember;  
> ’T were wisdom to forget.
> 
> I stood among the gold corn,  
> Alas! no more, I knew,  
> To gather gleaner’s measure  
> Of the love that fell from you.  
> For me, no gracious harvest—  
> Would God we ne’er had met!  
> ’T is hard, Love, to remember, but  
> ’T is harder to forget.
> 
> The streamlet now is frozen,  
> The nightingales are fled,  
> The cornfields are deserted,  
> And every rose is dead.  
> I sit beside my lonely fire,  
> And pray for wisdom yet:  
> For calmness to remember,  
> Or courage to forget.


End file.
